


a galaxy of possibilities

by quidhitch



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M, Order of the White Lotus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2597411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quidhitch/pseuds/quidhitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>oneshot. follows post book 4 makorra. mako joins the white lotus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a galaxy of possibilities

**Author's Note:**

> I just love the idea of White Lotus Mako, okay? Love iiiiit.

She showed up in the practice room on his first day, just to see if he’d be weird. He was.

She’d barely stepped through the doorframe, chewing absently on a piece of cow-bear jerky, before every guard in training had assembled in neat, straight-backed line with hands raised in a salute. Most of their faces were twisted into serious, stony expressions. The heavy slants of their eyebrows and firmly set mouths made it hard to grasp that most of them were Korra’s age.

She decided that was why he’d fit in so well here, Mako had probably starting looking like that when he was twelve.

She spared a glance at their instructor, Hotaru. She’d known him when _he_ was still training to be a sentry, and she remembered how he always used to put his hand over his chest like he’d been shot whenever she winked at him after firebending practice.

Now he stood at attention like the rest of him, but when she met his gaze she could see a smile lingering underneath his otherwise stony expression. She smiled back; just to let him know she saw it. 

Walking down the line of unfamiliar faces lazily, Korra made sure the silence was _just_ uncomfortable enough before she stopped at Mako. She wasn’t used to seeing him here in the compound, where she’d first learned how to roundhouse kick and eat a whole arctic hen. It was a strange collision of two worlds she’d always thought of as separate.

“You look stupid,” she informed him, crossing her arms over her chest, eyes flashing.

She could tell he wanted more than anything to shift awkwardly under her gaze, but he held his ground, gaze fixed on a display cabinet just a couple inches left of her head, “If there’s something wrong with my posture, Avatar Korra, I–“

“Yeah, actually there is,” Korra drawled, pointing an accusatory piece of jerky at his shoulders, “those aren’t back far enough.”

Mako hesitated, clearly aware she was just being an asshole, but somehow managed to push his shoulders even farther back anyways, “Anything else, Avatar Korra?”

She chewed on the jerky for a long minute before saying, “You should probably point your chin up more.”

Grimacing, he tipped his chin up a little farther, and now he looked ridiculous, and a little like he was waiting for a sign from the heavens that it was okay to murder is psycho… best friend? Lover? Who even knew anymore.

Korra could hear Hotaru fighting off laughter, and a slow smile spread over her face, “Hm. Your scowl needs to be just a little deeper, too, I don’t think –“

“Oh Korra, _come on_ ,” he said, finally, his posture falling away, and the rest of the class burst into fits of laughter. Hotaru was trying and failing to tell them to settle down between his own low chuckling.

Mako was red as a fire truck; with angry amber eyes burning holes in Korra’s blue ones. Korra smiled at him cheerily, leaning to the side so she could make eye contact with his boss between the bodies of the trainees. “Can it be their lunch break?”

Hotaru nodded, his laughter dying down. He was looking at Mako and Korra with a funny smile on his face. “Be back in thirty.”

Korra frowned. “Forty-five?” 

“Twenty.”

Sighing in exasperation, Korra grumbled ‘ _fine_ , thirty’, grabbed Mako’s hand, and dragged him away from the training room. She felt something warm blossom in her chest when he immediately laced his fingers with hers, even though she knew the weight of the gazes of the other trainees had to be suffocating him. 

“And Korra?” 

Korra jerked to a stop, making Mako crash into her back and nearly knock over a pile of gear. She smiled at him before turning to Hotaru, “Oh _please_ don’t make it twenty, that’s not even enough time–“

He cut her off with a wise smile, “Don’t break him. Looks like he’s going to be one of our best.”

Turning to Mako and raising her eyebrows, she felt a swell of pride and a little laughter bubble up inside her as he stumbled his way through a thank you, red faced and bright eyed. She was starting to think maybe she could get used to this. Humiliating him in front of his friends. Undermining him in front of his teachers. Holding his hand on the way to lunch. _Definitely_ hearing him curse at her under his breath after she’d dragged him out of the training room halfway through his three-part “expression of gratitude”.

Yeah. Maybe she could get used to this.

-

She cried at his stupid initiation ceremony.

She’d watched a couple from her bedroom window in the compound before and always thought they were incredibly dry – but today was different. It was the first time she’d see him in that signature white and navy blue uniform – the first physical reminder that he was _hers_ , forever and ever and ever.

It wasn’t even the promises he was told to recite by men in long white beards – about how he’d always protect her, how he’d always stand by her side – because she’d already _known_ all of that.

It was more the way he seemed to catch her eye every few seconds when he was supposed to be looking straight ahead. How he kept trying to discreetly itch his arm because he hadn’t yet gotten used to the fabric of the uniform. And how he’d beamed and blushed when she, Bolin, and Asami stood up, whooping loudly when they called his name. They were little reminders that she was in for a lifetime of _this_ , dorky, stubborn, stupid, beautiful _him_.

So she’d cried, and he’d made fun of her and held her close, stroking her hair and telling her this was what it was going to feel like when they got married, which of course only made her cry harder, and Bolin and Asami joined their hug, and then they all went out for noodles and beer.

And as Korra looked around the dimly lit, wooden-walled restaurant that just _felt_ and _sounded_ like comfort, she was reminded the following morning they would be heading back to Republic City.

The only reason she’d been staying at the compound was because of him. After they’d defeated Kuvira, he’d held her hands and told her in a trembling voice that he could never not see her for three years again. And that if she came with him this once, he’d follow her to the ends of the earth for the rest of their lives. So she’d said yes and returned to the compound for his training, telling everyone in Republic City that she needed time to recuperate, and promising the press it wouldn’t be for three years. 

The compound had felt disconnected from the real world. There wasn’t any pressure to figure out what they were, _who_ they were, and if Korra had the urge to lean across the table and pull him into a long, slow, searing kiss – she could do it and neither of them would bat an eye. Everything had felt temporary. There was no forever involved to make either of them skittish.

But it seemed to slowly dawn on them as they were stumbling back to the compound, half drunk and half numb from the cold, that forever was drawing closer with each passing second.

They still laughed, though.

No, giggled was the right word. Giggled like idiotic 12 year olds, and they couldn’t _stop_ giggling like idiotic 12 twelve year olds even as they fell clumsily into Korra’s room and stripped down to their underwear. It was only when they’d tucked themselves under a wool blanket Korra’s mother had knit for her when she was 9 that they both grew quiet.

They laid on their backs and held hands, staring up at the glass ceiling that showcased the crowded, star-filled sky, and Korra felt her heartbeat slow and sync up with his. Through the duration of the hour they laid there, they’d slowly gravitated closer together, and now Korra’s side was completely pressed up against Mako’s, and she couldn’t help but think she wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. The silence wrapped around them like a second blanket, warm and heavy and comforting.

She wanted to lie there for a thousand years.

“This is dumb,” Korra breathed, finally, “we’re _adults_. I thought the whole point of adulthood was actually knowing how to deal with your feelings or whatever.”

“You threw a clump of noodles at me tonight because I refused to call you ‘Queen Korra’,” Mako pointed out quietly.

She narrowed her eyes, “Your _point_?”

“I’m just saying it wasn’t very _adult_ -like–“ 

“Oh and you were so much better, Mr. Pouts Half the Night Because Bo Got Soy Sauce on My Uniform.”

“Do you know how hard it is to get soy sauce out of _white cloth_ , Korra?”

“Shhhh, you’re ruining our moment,” she mumbled, giving his hand a squeeze.

 “Right. Sorry.” She could see him smiling out of the corner of her eye. 

There was a long pause, then, where she just watched the stars and counted the beats between his breaths and then started to wonder if he’d fallen asleep, and was now drooling unattractively on her shoulder.

“You know how I feel about us, Korra,” he said, breaking the silence in his low, steady way. There was a sudden rustling of the blanket and Korra realized he was turning onto his side to look at her. And she felt his eyes, dark and decisive, make her heartbeat quicken for the first time in the two hours they’d been lying there.

She _did_ know. He’d been dropping not-so-subtle hints about it these past six months, offhandedly saying stuff like ‘we’re not going to hate our kids if they’re not benders, right?’ and ‘maybe I should get you a pair of betrothal _socks_ instead of a necklace because your feet _seriously_ stink’. She’d always just smashed a snowball in his face and they’d both laughed it off – but now his words sat on her chest and made her breathing shallow and her mind buzz.

But… Kind of in a good way.

Turning on her side so their noses were touching and their legs were tangled, Korra sighed and said, “we are _definitely_ not going to hate our kids if they’re not benders and if you get me betrothal socks, my mother will drown you.”

She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile so wide.

- 

“You’re making the face.” 

“I’m not making the face.”

“You’re making the face, Mako! Taka, tell him he’s making the face.” 

“…You’re making the face, sir.”

Mako scowled at Korra, presumably wondering when exactly Taka and the rest of _his_ trainees had started liking his wife more than they liked him.

Korra braced her hands on the edge of the metal table, the dim light of the police station making her eyes blurry – a sure sign they’d been standing around for half an hour too long. Sighing loudly, she gave him a look that very clearly said ‘arguing about security detail was not how I imagined date night going’, before saying “Come on, babe–”

“Korra, we talked about this, no pet names in front of them,” Mako mumbled under his breath, scowl deepening as he nodded towards the group of future sentries clumped in a corner, all of whom were trying unsuccessfully to hold in their smiles.

Korra didn’t seem to notice or care. “Come on, _Mr. Mako Sir_ ,” she corrected sardonically, folding her arms over her chest and giving him her trademark ‘what is it _this_ time’ smirk, “tell me why you’re making the face.”

Mako looked at her with _his_ trademark ‘supply closet, _now_ ’ frown, “One guard at each entrance isn’t enough, Korra, _especially_ if they’re just trainees. You need at least two.”

“First of all, I think Meelo would consider it the best birthday present _ever_ if a bunch of ninja assassins who managed to take out twelve White Lotus sentries–“

“Eleven,” he corrected petulantly.

She threw a pencil at him before continuing, “ _eleven_ White Lotus sentries crashed his party.”

“That’s because Meelo’s chemically imbalanced!” Mako insisted, his composure slipping a little and his voice rising half an octave.

Korra opened her mouth to say Mako shouldn’t be bitter because Meelo’s tattoos were cooler than his, but abruptly closed it upon seeing – _really_ seeing – the look on his face. His hard mouth, creased brow, and narrowed eyes gave nothing away, they exuded confidence and authority and put-togetherness, but there was worry and wanting painted clear as a picture in his eyes. Her mouth formed a soft, surprised ‘oh’.

“You’re making the face,” Korra said, but this time her eyes and her voice were gentler, and only she saw him nod imperceptibly to confirm that yes – yes, _this_ face he was making.

She barely registered the sound of the trainees taking this as their queue to awkwardly shuffle out of the room and give them some privacy, and walked around to Mako’s side of the table, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“You’re not supposed to make that face,” she reminded, patiently, rubbing circles with her thumb on the back of his neck.

“I know,” he said with a sad smile, arms coming to loop around her waist.

“That’s the ‘ _Korra you left for three years and didn’t write me’_ face.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Smiling back, she shook her head slowly before standing up on her tip toes and pressing a soft kiss against his forehead, nose, and mouth, “You’re _not_ supposed to make that face,” she said again, and he nodded again, and she felt something just underneath her blue and amber betrothal necklace melt, “….Two guards at every entrance.” He let out a breath she hadn’t known he’d been holding and leaned his forehead against hers. She could practically _feel_ his relief.

And as his breath mingled with hers, his hands grew heavy on his waist, and the door behind them creaked no doubt due to the fact there were eleven sentries in training leaning into it with their ears pressed to the wood – one word washed over Korra like sun on a summer day.

_Forever._


End file.
